ng son. M. de Langevy had struggled against
the storms and misfortunes of human life; he now reposed in the
bosom of solitude, with many a regret over his wife and his
youth--his valiant sword and his adventures. His son, Hector Henri de
Langevy, had studied under the Jesuits at Lyons till he was eighteen.
Accustomed to the indulgent tenderness of his grandmother, he had
returned, about two years before, determined to live in his quiet
home without troubling himself about the military glories that had
inspired his father. M. de Langevy, though he disapproved of the
youth's choice, did not interfere with it, except that he insisted
on his sometimes following the chase, as the next best occupation to
actual war. The chase had few charms for Hector. It perhaps might
have had more, if he had not been forced to arm himself with an
enormous fowling-piece that had belonged to one of his ancestors,
the very sight of which alarmed him a mighty deal more than the game.
He was so prodigious a sportsman, that, after six months' practice,
he was startled as much as ever by the whirr of a partridge. But
don't imagine, on this account, that Hector's time was utterly wasted.
He mused and dreamed, and fancied it would be so pleasant to be in
love; for he was at that golden age--the only golden age the world
has ever seen--when the heart passes from vision to vision (as the
bee from flower to flower)--and wanders, in its dreams of hope, from
earth to heaven, from sunshine to shade--from warbling groves to
sighing maidens. But alas! the heart of Hector searched in vain for
sighing maidens in the woods of Langevy. In the chateau, there was
no one but an old housekeeper, who had probably not sighed for thirty
years, and a chubby scullion-maid--all unworthy of a soul that
dreamed romances on the banks of the Lignon. He counted greatly on a
cousin from Paris, who had promised them a visit in the spring. In
the meantime, he paced up and down with a gun on his shoulder,
pretending to be a sportsman--happy in his hopes, happy in the clear
sunshine, happy because he knew no better--as happens to a great
many other people in the gay days of their youth, in this most
unjustly condemned and vilipended world. And now you will probably
guess what occurred one day he was walking in his usual dreamy state
of abstraction, and as nearly as possible tumbled head foremost into
the Lignon. By dint of marching straight on, without minding either
hedge or ditc